An Involuntary Visit to Voldemort's Cave
by Sweetie7smiled
Summary: Unavoidably thrust into a crisis together that threatens *every single one of them*, how will Albus, Harry, Edward, & Bella ultimately cope with the inherent dangers of Voldemort's most dangerously protected horcrux? Can the wizards put their trust in a vampire called in to kill them? They may not have a choice if any of them wish to live very long. EM AUT storyette #4.
1. Summoned Into Hell

**A Visit to Voldemort's Cave  
**

Essentially Magical's Alternate Universe Tangent storyette #4

Summary: Unavoidably thrust into a crisis together that threatens *every single one of them*, how will Albus, Harry, Edward, & Bella ultimately cope with the inherent dangers of Voldemort's most dangerously protected horcrux? Can the wizards put their trust in a vampire called in to kill them? They may not have a choice if any of them wish to live very long. Canon loyal to both series' characters and worlds.

_For the purposes of this storyette__: __ Regulus was never actually able to remove the horcrux from Voldemort's pensieve__,__ and instead died in the attempt (being not as adept a wizard as Dumbledore is). Thus, a piece of Voldemort's soul __still __resides__ in the midst of __his__ cave__ –__ allowing the unanticipated trap of a __demon __summons to be effective__. __ (__Undead __summoning magic __requires__ the express presence of the summoner__.__) __Incidentally__, the deleterious style of__ the__ locket horcrux__ has been herein reassigned__… leaving __an alternate__ horcrux to __instead manifest__ the specific characteristics of the canon locket._

_As you may recall from various others of my stories: the wizarding world knows __just __enough__ about Undead Vampires – to have surmised that any spellwork they might attempt would be as effective against one of __them__… as it would be against the __killing__ curse._

_This storyette will contain some direct conversational quotes from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, by J. K. Rowling, for purposes of coordination and story flow._

_This __sequence occurs__ during the horcrux recovery trip of HP6, which __has been adjusted to take__ place in latest May rather than mid-June__ (__prior__ to E&B's engagement and the newborn fight)__. Might Harry have benefited, secondarily and distantly, from the now active Felix Felicis potion he gave his friends to ingest before coming with Dumbledore on this trip? Or is this just a __truly__ fortu__itous__ chain of events?_

* * *

*** * * Summoned Into Hell * * ***

With the advent of Albus Dumbledore's first step onto the island in the middle of Voldemort's cavern, a latent magical booby-trap is sprung. Inadvertently triggered by the detected presence of Voldemort's greatest adversary, the _thirstiest __v__ampire__ of the undead, in all the __world_… is promptly summoned into the immediate vicinity of the unable-to-apparate headmaster. With the exception of the preventative-only protection _usually_ afforded by defensive wards – there is no known magical defense against a vampire of this type.

During the week following Edward's missed hunting trip in the midst of Eclipse, when his eyes are particularly dark, his and Bella's normal routine is suddenly interrupted by a strange pulling sensation… which brings them _both_ (because they happened to be holding hands) suddenly into the unfamiliar greenish gloom of a gigantic cave interior.

Already having determined apparation within the confines of the cave to be impossible, a startled and alarmed Dumbledore recognizes right off the bat that the arrival of two strange newcomers could only mean that at least _one_ of them has to be a _summoned_ member of the _U__ndead_. Since the two of them are obviously neither dementors _nor_ inferi, that only leaves _one_ possibility: _Vampire_… one of the _Heartless_ in fact; the most _lethal_ species in _existence_. Consequently, it also confirms the presence of a piece of Voldemort's soul in the near vicinity, since such an one couldn't have been brought here without it.

With a sinking heart, Albus recognizes that the sudden presence of such a wildly malignant being suggests a supremely _unpromising_ fate for the both of them… alongside the very likely failure of their mission. _No! This must not be! I know Fawkes will intervene if he attacks __me__, but not necessarily if he attacks Harry. _Similarly, the young woman's attendance in conjunction with the vampire takes the headmaster thoroughly and concernedly by surprise. _Another__ victim_, he presumes in dismay. _How__ to protect them both?_

_Warded defense would be naturally my first thought… except that I already __saw__ written in the magic that __wards__ cannot be conjured in this place. Illusory or otherwise. __This__ would explain __why__. __Offensive strategies__ may in fact be the only options Tom left available to use. _Albus sighs concernedly. _Inasmuch as trapping the deadly being within a coiled whip or cage of __fire __is __a possibility __that __may__ be effectiv__e… __she__ is too close to him to separate, and I can't sanction an unprovoked and potentially deadly assault. On anyone. Truly, even though __a__nything__ might lethally set him off… and he can potentially __react__ faster than anything I could do… __offense__ has to stay a fallback plan only. _

Certainly, by the limited knowledge of the wizarding world (necessarily based on rumor, such as it is), the grandwizard may not have been able to _recognize_ an undead vampire for what he was, were they to have met under inconspicuous circumstances. But, now that he knows to look for it – this specimen _does_ fit the physical description exactly: abnormally pale skin, _enviably_ attractive features, red to black eyes. His sure stance never wavers, even though his face looks suddenly drawn and it is obvious the pair of them were taken by surprise. They are both dressed like muggles, and she looks _very_ human – and fragilely unstable – next to _him_.

* * *

Edward immediately catches Bella to keep her from stumbling from the shock of the summons, and then holds her protectively in his arms while he assesses his surroundings. His glance passes quickly over a well-aged man and teenage boy, both guardedly wielding _wands_ (the younger following the lead of the older)… noting immediately, and with substantial concern, that they already _know_ or could easily figure out what he _is_ and are extremely wary of (even if only dubiously able to defend from) what they expect he might do. A fresh vampire smell lingers around the older one of the two – suggesting the dreadful possibility that an unknown predator could be already toying with them, lying in wait… perhaps hiding in the water ready to strike at any moment.

He doesn't detect any _thoughts_ to that end, however… _thankfully_…but even _that_ assurance is not much of a consolation in this place. Dead bodies scattered throughout the unnaturally still lake present an eerily foreboding sight – especially being that he can see to the far ends of the cavern like no one else here can, and there are a _lot_ of them overall. Strangely, however, there is no stench of decay. On the contrary, a subtle plethora of _unfamiliar_ scents – alongside traces of evident _magic_ (recognized as such through the older wizard's knowledgeable perspective) – suggest there may be much more to them than meets the eye.

Indeed, Edward _knows_ that there is. Because – worse than _every_ other observation he's made – the most disturbing discovery of all involves the myriad of thoughts originating from the small tower standing in the middle of their tiny island.

From this solidly built yet unassuming structure, _thousands_ of personal recollections are silently yet loudly speaking their stories to his mind… each one just as terrible as the next, and being simultaneously delivered in the very _same_ chillingly depraved tone. Edward has never heard _so much_ of the _same_ voice before, all _at once_ like this – and the voluminous effect is _unbearably_ attention-commanding, being that the only other voices in the _entirety_ of his range belong to the two distrustfully vigilant wizards standing mere feet away.

Upon this tower full of thoughts is the _last_ place Edward wants his attention to dwell, however. The stories are truly _heinous_. Cumulatively, these individual memories detail the killer's first-hand account of how _each_ and _every one_ of the once-human people in the lake were painfully and gruesomely _murdered_. Unsophisticated men, women, and children alike… each _powerless_ against this wizard's torturous magic… were all killed for the delight of _killing_, and so that their bodies could be magically preserved toward some deplorably nefarious purpose. It's the same villain who _created_ this human death-trap of a cave – and eventually brought the _both_ of them, callously, right into the very midst of it.

Swirling individually within the pensieve, to Edward's hearing every unique recollection promptly begins _again_ upon finishing – so that the whole basin of insidious thoughts combines to form one terribly _real_ and _vociferously __complex_ horror story, set on infinite _repeat_. It's _incredibly_ hard to ignore – nearly drowning out completely the only other voices in the area which could provide any _hope_ of distraction – and truly _devastating_ to consider. _This_ must be what it feels like to go _insane_. He _desperately_ needs to get the both of them _out_ of here… and yet – he's not sure what hidden dangers may lie in doing so. The wizards would be more familiar with the potential hazards of this _magical_ place, than he is.

To the wizards' observation, Edward's initial response to his surroundings is to become wide-eyed with horror and inexplicable agony, and hold Bella to himself tightly – though also (to Albus' surprise) harmlessly. It's barely any time at all, though, before his horror turns into murderous rage (unexpectedly directed at the _pensieve_, of all things) – and the sustained intensity of some kind of invisible _attack_ apparently has him grimacing in pain, pinching the bridge of his nose, and soundlessly muttering to himself in a constant but seemingly fruitless effort to relieve it. Never having had an opportunity to learn about the more personal habits or supernatural characteristics of Undead Vampires, known only for their overwhelmingly _rapacious_ natures, neither Albus nor Harry understands what could be going on.

As soon as Bella manages to settle her nausea and regain her balance in the unfamiliar semi-darkness, she raises her head from being suddenly buried in his chest – only to shockingly notice a dead _body_ floating in the water nearby. She gasps involuntarily. _Alarmed_, and confident that Edward will know more about their surroundings than she would, she immediately queries in a slightly shaky voice: "Edward – what just happened?"

With her attempt to shift in his arms in order to look up at him properly, the tension in his body becomes clearly evident; his stone arms are slower than usual to accommodate her movement. Upon finally seeing his face, Bella recognizes the same, pained wincing behavior from their meeting with Jacob earlier in the week… well, not _exactly_ the same, but also _horribly_ _magnified_ in some way, since he seems to be _singing_ to himself in an effort to relieve it… and suspects that some truly _terrible _thoughts in the vicinity must be to blame. Immediately glaring toward the two peculiar strangers holding onto weapon-like sticks that are aimed at him – she nevertheless sees nothing _malicious_ or aggressive in their postures, however, and so drops her defensive scowl and turns back to Edward in concern. Touching her palm to his cheek, she notes with anxiety: "You're not okay."

Edward's tormented eyes show a mix of horror, pain, and incensed fury. "No, I'm not," he answers slowly, carefully – his musical voice tightly under control and slipping back into its silent song between sentences – as if he _has_ to maintain it. "This place is _evil_, Bella. You're _not_ safe here. And… it's conspiring to make me go _mad_." His angered tone carries hints of surprise, worry, _agony_, frustration, and defiance. The constant but silent motion of his lips, promptly resuming in the wake of his declaration, only serves to enhance the impression.

"It's not them, is it?" Bella surmises carefully, desperately, stating rather than asking. Her brow is furrowed in worry; she's never _seen_ him respond to someone's thoughts in quite so _vulnerable_ a fashion, and it scares her. This has got to be something bigger than just the two peculiar strangers next to them.

"No," Edward shakes his head in willing confirmation, thankful for the brief but wonderful gift of _her_ voice. Briefly his eyes flash with a fond concern at the memory of her protective demeanor – but he can tell the wizards would not hurt her. "It's not them." His soft voice is strained as his audible tone lowers ominously. "It's this place." Struggling to keep his attention focused _away_ from the deafening collection of thoughts bombarding him, and directed solely upon _her_, he slowly takes her head in his hands and articulates painfully: "Bella – I'm going to need a running distraction, until we're away from here. Would you mind? Just _keep_ talking; say _anything_…" he pleads, "_Tell_ me what you're thinking. _Please_ – let me hear your voice!" Immediately he winces uncontrollably and continues with his silent song.

"Alright," she agrees quickly, promptly racking her brains for whatever she could talk about, _especially_ continually. "Um…" Whatever it is must be both _unrelenting_, _and_ _extremely_ bothering to him. "H-how did we get here? Do you know where here is? What _is_ this place? _What is going on with you?_" With every question, her anxious tone raises in pitch and speeds with worry. "Edward – I don't know how well I can keep up a running _monologue_! You _know_ I'm not used to verbalizing everything that's in my head. But, I'll _try_. Of _course_ I'll try. And now I'm rambling. Ugh! How am I supposed to not let anything _slip_ if I'm talking as fast as my mind can come up with something to _say_?"

"Calm down, Bella," Edward soothes her. And surprisingly, the clarity of focus makes it easier for him to function. "I'll be alright." The pace of his words is slow and even. "_Talking_ to you helps, too. This place is just… _very_ loud and _extremely_ disturbing… in the kind of way that no one _else_ would have even noticed." Grimacing unavoidably, he pointedly hints at the situation without obviously giving away the nature of his talent. However, the grandfather-like wizard apparently recognizes the symptoms for what they _are_, and is very close to figuring it out. "Besides… they already _know_, anyway."

Bella's eyes widen in alarm at the connotations of their knowledge, and Edward explains with believable reasoning: "Their whole _world_ knows about my kind, at least to a basic degree, or it wouldn't have been possible for us to be summoned here in the first place."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Because of its focus on Voldemort's reality, this storyette will have a darker theme than others I've written. But don't worry; there'll be humor, too. :) It is ultimately expected to be slightly longer than Encountering Oz or St. Mungos Delivery, though fewer chapters have yet been completed.

Thanks for reading and reviewing! And many thanks to Stephenie Meyer and J. K. Rowling for writing the wonderful series that make this story possible.


	2. Unstable Introductions

*** * * Unstable Introductions * * ***

As Bella realizes the truth of his observation and her expression turns instead to fretful worry, Edward keeps the conversation moving along as a most helpful and necessary distraction for the both of them. Whenever he's not actively talking, he's inaudibly singing. "As for your questions…" he ventures tentatively, keeping his focus trained upon her with painstaking effort, "Do you believe in _magic_?"

Bella raises her eyebrows, taken by surprise at the topic – but regards him seriously. "At this point – it wouldn't surprise me." Her tone is wry.

Beneath his inescapably tormented expression, Edward's lips twitch into a small smile, though his eyes tighten with tension as he internally struggles to keep his thought-induced discomfort firmly under control. "No, I suppose it wouldn't."

Meanwhile, finally clued in by the summoning idea from Edward's earlier comment, in combination with the fact that their supernatural visitor looks as pale as an _inferi_ in this light, has displayed some _shockingly_ violent emotions, _and_ immediately was enough to trigger Professor _Dumbledore_ to the defense… Harry is just now realizing, with _horror_, what kind of creature must be standing before them.

In response, Edward gladly drops all pretense of secretiveness in favor of speaking freely to Bella and hopefully being able to introduce himself as a friend to the wizards by such action. On top of the preexisting knowledge they possess of his species _already_, this _maddening_ bombardment is quickly going to expose the secret of his talent as well. _Too much_ for them to know… let alone all at once! But at this rate, it cannot be helped. Better to head it off with a complementary understanding, lest they be led to think of him as even _more_ unbalanced than he feels. _And for Bella's sake: help them to remain __stable__. _Though inevitably such knowledge is not going to make them any _less_ afraid of him… at least this way, they'll have a sober explanation for it.

Promptly in answer to her queries, Edward goes on to tell her that this is an isolated and darkly _magical_ place that _he_ was summoned to (and _she_ was unlucky enough to accidentally tag along for), by its _maker_… _conceivably_ – for the express purpose of causing the _death_ of their two companions before they would have a chance to accomplish whatever they came here to do. "Apparently, this _Voldemort_ character believes that their purpose would be his downfall," he painstakingly surmises.

Both wizards are guardedly listening with intent interest to his captivating explanation. _How does he __know__ this? _Harry wonders with alarm, thoroughly unsure what to really make of it. Indeed, for a predator of the _muggle_ world, he has a surprisingly keen knowledge of their magical one. Contrastingly, Albus suspects that Edward may somehow be _hearing_ all of Tom's pensieve thoughts… if not also their _own_. _Would this be__ a good or a __bad development? _he wonders, warily acknowledging the _viciously_ enlightening nature of that possibility. Surprisingly, the maliciously apprehended vampire has still made _no_ threatening motions in their direction… _or_ in any other. Both of them are confounded by the unexpected dynamic that appears to exist between their undead immigrant and his muggle human companion. Unbelievably, she appears to _trust_ him. _Does she know what he __is__? _It seems she might.

"As to where exactly we are located…" Edward continues tightly, unable to entirely mask his internal distress, "I believe we're actually somewhere along the shores of _England_, or thereabouts." Bella gasps in surprise, and he almost smiles at her reaction. "A little far from home," he acknowledges softly, before his smile turns into a frown, "but that's where most of these people were native. Their _killer_ fashioned this place into a personal hideout of sorts… and then made the _entire cavern_ into one gigantic, convoluted _death_ trap."

Bella looks back at the lake with a shudder, finding his explanation all too easy to imagine, and then returns her gaze to Edward – concern and confusion etched deeply within her features. "Where is all this knowledge coming from?" she whispers seemingly to herself, though actually in a concerted effort to keep putting her thoughts into words for Edward's sake. "Is the killer still around here somewhere? I don't understand."

Tenderly brushing his fingers across her cheek and through her hair in a silent gesture of appreciation for her communicative effort, Edward then stiffly turns to indicate with his other hand the pensieve tower standing in the middle of the island. Answering the last of her questions with a significant look toward it, his strained velvet voice now takes on a hard edge. "The bowl of this pedestal houses the many _recollections_ of he who has made this place into what it _is_. Apparently, there exists a magical method for transforming one's individual _thoughts_ into a tangible form for _safekeeping_… which is how there can be a whole _towns-worth_ of nefarious memories waiting to ambush the sanity of any unsuspecting mind so unfortunate as to consume them." His teeth are gritted by the end of this.

Bella's eyes widen as she finally realizes, at least in part, the horribly thought-intrusive nature of the situation Edward is having to deal with. "Oh, Edward," Bella laments on his behalf, hugging him tightly. "We have to get you out of here!"

Abruptly, Albus recognizes that: not only is Edward able to actually _hear _their thoughts as he suspected, but that he must not be capable of turning _off_ the ability! _No __wonder__ he's been acting as if he were under invisible magical attack. He is! _the headmaster surmises in awe._ And it's not hard to believe that Voldemort's stash of thoughts would do that to a person. _Clearly, the reality of this powerful mental condition is not _new_ to her, either… though the current intensity of his _reaction_ seems to be. _That's got to be some doozy of a pounding headache, then… indicating that the workings of Voldemort's mind must be exorbitantly severe. No surprise there, sadly. Although – I'd have supposed that such an ordeal __wouldn't__ tend to be __near__ so taxing upon someone who was similarly inclined. Hmmm. What might that say about __him__?_ These revelations, along with all the potential implications for their situation, are overwhelming.

With a small – even if tense – smile, Edward wraps his arms around her comfortingly and buries his face into her hair, breathing deeply. Both wizards blanch. Fortunately, the increase of focus on Bella's appeal which naturally accompanies this gesture – proves to be unusually helpful as a diversion tactic. "I'll be fine, Bella. Don't worry," he kisses her hair appreciatively, calming them both. "I'm certainly not going _anywhere_ without _you_. But, we'll have to be careful. _Any_ negligible action in this place could very well be the thing that springs his elaborate trap into motion. And, since I've never _met_ magic before, there may yet be dangers that I wouldn't know about. We can go out with them," he concludes, indicating their magical companions with a tilt of his head. Then, as his afflicted gaze turns up to meet theirs, he entreats: "Let's just not waste any time making it happen."

Albus nods in acknowledgement, respectfully dropping his already-partially-lowered wand as he does so, grateful to have been given a chance to accomplish what they came here to do. Even if the decision to spare their lives (for the moment, at least) could have stemmed purely from the fact that Voldemort hasn't given him a very good _first impression_, his willingness to _cooperate_ with their efforts against the author of his torment, rather than battling _for_ him, is not insignificant. In truth – though the good headmaster set out on this errand anticipating that he very well might not come out of it _alive_, it remains _vital_ that Harry be able to. This vampire's unexpectedly agreeable demeanor – if not also inexplicably _inspiring_ attitude in relation to Bella – is very encouraging to this end. _There may be hope yet._

Following Professor Dumbledore's example, Harry lowers his wand as well – albeit more warily, and only part of the way. He finds it difficult to lower his defenses completely against a lethal predator that could _turn_ on them at any moment. _Even if he __does__ seem nice._

Nevertheless, in a brief but efficient expression of tentative cooperation and hopeful good will, Dumbledore cautiously gestures to himself and Harry in turn, proffering cursory introductions. "Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter…"

Pausing the desperate motion of his lips to reply, Edward completes the overture smoothly, pleased at the grandwizard's effort. "…Edward Cullen, and Bella Swan," he intones, before immediately resuming his private serenade. The two centenarians gratefully conclude with an exchange of respectful nods.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the late update. Thanks for reading and reviewing!


	3. Pernicious Trap

*** * * Pernicious Trap * * ***

As the astute headmaster and his protégé promptly but cautiously advance toward the pensieve, Edward politely retreats with Bella to the far edge of the tiny island platform, offering the anxious wizards as much space as possible. It isn't much.

Studying the phosphorescent liquid keenly, Albus recognizes that the nature of its contents is – at least in part – quite possibly _exactly_ what the vampire… _Edward_… has described. Voldemort's _memories_, mixed in with some sort of additional villainous potion, would be very _likely_ to torture one into insanity were they to be consumed… just as surely as the _potion_ would ultimately be the cause of their _death_. It fits his style. Naturally, the idea of consumption is not _at all_ appealing – even less so now that he's been clued into it – though neither is it unexpected. _I __did__ come__ prepared to see __this__ through__, i__n any case__… because __the destruction of Voldemort__ is fundamentally __worth__ the sacrifice of __my__ life__, if that's what it takes__. Just so long as __Harry __can come out intact enough to finish what we've started… a long-term guarantee which is uncomfortably uncertain in current company__.__ Sigh._ _Must__ it be consumed__, then__?_ To be sure, Albus checks through every conceivable alternative.

Between furtive glances directed toward the perilously unfamiliar couple standing across the way, the wizards proceed to interact and converse much as they would have had Edward and Bella _not_ been present… if not a little more quietly and quickly. ("What is it?", "I am not sure...", "Sir, no, don't touch – !", "I cannot touch; see? … You try.", "You think the Horcrux is in there, sir?", "Oh, yes.")

Meanwhile, Edward monitors their effort with alarm as he finally has occasion to identify the source of the strange vampire smell surrounding the grandwizard in particular. It's coming from his _wand_?! At least, that explains the scent in a less than threatening fashion… though it additionally brings up a lot of unanswered questions. Simultaneously, Bella shivers against him in involuntary response to the cave's cooler temperature (and/or the tragically gruesome environment), causing him to automatically shrug off his jacket in order to wrap her in it.

Quickly resuming their comforting embrace in order to best keep her anxieties at bay, while also breathing deeply and singing silently to keep the voluminous bombardment of voices from overwhelmingly commanding his attention, he hugs her to him, casually holding her back to his front so that she doesn't have to watch him suffer in his distress.

Still, in the process of it all, Bella can't help but notice that he hasn't let himself lose contact with her _skin_ even _once_ since they arrived here. (It's not exactly _easy_ to _nonchalantly_ help someone put on a jacket while maintaining such contact, after all.) "You're afraid," she observes fearfully, trembling against him… and in response he only hugs her all the more tightly. If _he's_ afraid of something, naturally _she_ is going to be. "What do you think would happen… if you were to let go of me?" she gently calls him on it.

He exhales slowly into her neck; a distressed sound. Obviously his efforts at keeping his torment away from her notice are being less effective than usual. He's faltering under the deluge, and can't seem to keep from giving himself away. Already she's hit right on to the most painful truth. "If I can be summoned out of the middle of _nowhere_, _without warning_, into a place like _this_…" his low voice intones, "then I can just as easily be called _out_ of it. But I _won't_ leave you here! I _can't_!" His voice is tinged with desperation. "As much as this pair of wizards would be likely inclined to help you out, were I to come up missing – there's no guarantee that they would be _able_ to take you safely away. Their boat's only _barely_ big enough to fit the _two_ of them, as it is; it's magically designed for transporting only _one_. The idea of you… _waiting_ all alone out here, for someone to come _back_ for you… with _death_ lurking around _every_ corner…" he shudders. "I can't _imagine_ it."

She shudders, too. "So… I'm only here, because we were touching?" He nods, and she grasps his hand all the more tightly to her. "Okay. Then I won't let go," she assures him.

He kisses her cheek gratefully. As their conversation momentarily lulls, the play of his breath against her skin indicates he's returned to his silent song – the words coming out too fast and low for human hearing. It's _scary_ that he feels the need to do this just in order to stay _sane_ in this place.

"It's _so_ creepy," Bella remarks with obvious discomfort, struggling to keep putting her usually quiet thoughts into words as she looks out over the ominous scenery… "and gloomy," she continues, eyeing the eerie glow emanating from both the boat and the pedestal in the otherwise pitch-black cavern… "horrible," her face scrunches up as her view skims across _more than one_ body floating deathly still in the lake closely surrounding them, "and…" her breath catches sharply as she notices the ghoulishly empty eyes of the one nearest their position. With a violent shudder, she shuts her eyes tightly and pushes up into Edward's embrace as far as it is possible to get. It seems the last thought goes without saying.

"Yes it is," Edward agrees grimly, gentle arms nevertheless embracing her firmly. He needs her comfort as much as she needs his. "What you see are all long-dead human corpses… zombies, if you will… that have been painstakingly preserved and programmed to become eternal _pawns_ in his wicked game. They will seek to make _more of their own_, if given a chance. That's why I also cannot let you come into contact with the lake." _Every one of the poor souls who ha__s__ fallen __into __this__ pernicious__ trap_, Edward knows, _had__ somehow __touched __or triggered its liquid surface __just prior to__ being pulled into it._He's glad she is unable to see just how very _many_ there are.

Bella pales, and turns around to look at him in surprised horror. Overprotective of her emotions as he is, this is _not_ the kind of thing he would have willingly divulged to her under _normal_ circumstances. She can see that his eyes are inordinately tense and worried behind the strained facade; haunted almost… he's clearly under a _lot_ more strain than he's even been letting show. Reminded of his request, she hugs him close and tries to keep the conversation moving. "I… can't _stand_ how blank their eyes look…" she whispers, tears brimming behind her eyelids, "_especially_ when they look as pale as _you_ do."

His troubled eyes soften with understanding tenderness, and he strokes her wet cheek comfortingly. "At least, they truly _are_ dead. There is no one out there suffering… any_more__,_" he replies quietly.

She nods tearfully against his chest.

"_Undoubtedly__,__" _Dumbledore's words not-so-distantly penetrate the brief silence of their little bubble, though they're part of another conversation altogether, _"this potion must act in a way that will prevent me taking the Horcrux. It might paralyze me, cause me to forget what I am here for, create so much pain I am distracted, or render me incapable in some other way. This being the case, Harry, it will be your job to make sure I keep drinking, even if you have to tip the potion into my protesting mouth. You understand?"_

Feeling Bella suddenly gasp and stiffen with alarmed concern in front of him, it's clear that she just heard the whole thing. _Sigh. _On top of what he just revealed, and what he has damnably witnessed to be in store for _any_ human that continues along this path – it's not surprising at all to see her expression (and heart rate) suddenly infused with terror for the desperate plight overshadowing these two complete strangers and their mission here. Even as Edward can't help but want to _thoroughly_ shield her from every trauma awaiting them, which ability consistently seems to elude him, he admires her for caring so much.

Consequently, and most _d__efinitely_ wanting to offer Albus whatever feasible alternatives he possibly _c__an_ before the goodly headmaster pursues this conclusion of last resort, Edward offers a last soothing touch to the back of her head and a kiss to the top of it… before unwinding his arms enough to lead her the few short steps toward the pedestal.

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks for reading and sharing your enjoyment with me!


	4. Ominous Efforts

*** * * Ominous Efforts * * ***

Both wizards automatically take a wary step back at his approach, but then relax a bit with relief when he simply says: "I'll try," and attempts to put his hand through the potion as they had both done previously.

_It __is__ a good idea__, _Dumbledore admits with cautious optimism; _truly __a gesture as surprising as it is welcome. __P__erhaps the hand of an undead being would be able to have a different outcome__?_ However, the progress of the vampire's hand is thwarted just as much as theirs had been… causing Edward's eyebrow to rise with shocked unease at the discovery. _That must not be something he's used to_, Albus assesses. _In the muggle world he must be rather unstoppable… yet, magic isn't necessarily like that. I… __t__hank __you__… for the attempt_, Albus belatedly thought-directs with impressed sincerity.

Behind the scenes, the wizards haven't imagined that any effort from _Bella_ would be able to result in any outcome different from their own, and Edward is happy to let that thought lie. On the off chance that her strange mental immunity could cause _her_ to be able to come into _contact_ with the noxious poison, were she to give it a try – potentially resulting in _all manner_ of untreatably _life_-threatening emergencies in this horrid place – it is not even something that he can _consider_.

Of course, by the _same_ token – he also couldn't consider consuming the potion in the old wizard's place. Even if they _do_ have established reason to believe that _no directed spells_ would work against his skin, already it is clear that _some_ magical effects _do_ have sway upon him: their _summoning_ in the first place, the pensieve force-field, and the thought bombardment situation for starters. It would be the height of _foolishness_ to assume that such a potion _couldn't_ have an effect… and something sure to be deleterious to the drinker (and thus all the more _danger-inducing_ in his case) would _not_ be the way to test out whether or not it _did_. Bella _needs_ him, to get out of here. Neither, does he want to give her any ideas._ Alright. So…__ what __else__ haven't they tried or thought of__ yet__?_

Shifting his focus onto to the underside of the pensieve as the rest of them watch on with cautious curiosity, Edward places Bella's hand solidly against his neck and stoops to place both of his own on either side of the thick pedestal base… only to cleanly break the stone structure in two as if it were no more difficult than breaking a matchstick in half would have been. The resulting loud _crack_ reverberates powerfully throughout the cavern, and an audible gulp from Harry betrays the young wizard's nervousness. Promptly, Edward tips the basin-dominated shape off to the side in an effort to pour out its contents onto an unoccupied section of the floor.

Nothing happens. The potion, _and_ that which it protects, is not affected by gravity.

With a frown, Edward rests the shortened basin pedestal upright against its taller broken counterpart and takes hold of the pensieve edges at opposite ends. Twisting his hands slightly, in a move much like what broke the pedestal off of its base just moments before, he is startled to find that it doesn't even _crack_. Subsequent efforts, which look to everyone else like no more than gentle handling gestures performed along the side of the bowl, illustrate to him that it _won't_ be crushed, torn, or otherwise broken apart. "It won't _break_," he admits in awe, alarmed.

In response to this admission, both wizards' thoughts reflexively touch upon the existence of a magical charm that can be used to render an object _unbreakable_. Clearly, the end result remains effective even when pitted against strength such as _his_. _That's__ a __truly__ disconcerting thought_, Edward worries silently, his mind racing alongside theirs through various harrowing possibilities _…if not also __considerably__ alarming. __Just__ the very __p__otential__ that __an __unbreakable object could ever be __created__ to __contain__ and thereby __control __a __vampire__ –__ is __frightening__!_ Thankfully, Albus also recognizes that this particular effect is in fact accomplished via a spell which gets exponentially more_ difficult_ to cast upon larger and larger items; thus why only the _bowl_ is charmed.

Unsettled by this failure, and its resultant revelation, Edward rises back to full height and exhales loudly, immediately covering her hand on his neck with his own. Surprisingly, Bella snorts in strained amusement beside him, the action barely concealing a hysterical undercurrent of emotion within her. "You know – I could have imagined _Emmett _thinking that something like that could have been accomplished using no more than brute strength, but not _you_. It's so – so _cave-man__-_like. I think you've been around him for too long."

Through his distress, Edward smiles slightly at her facetious attempt, briefly reveling in the melody of her voice, then shrugs tensely. "It was worth a try. You know – every once in a while it _does_ come in handy; _he_ might not have thought to guard against it," Edward nods toward the pensieve, indicating his silent tormentor. "No doubt Emmett would have tried doing that first thing." He chuckles once, though the sound is strained.

Bella nods, troubled. "You must be out of ideas, then," she surmises worriedly. It's obvious that she desperately wishes that she could come up with _some_ bright idea to offer.

Edward grimaces, then winces involuntarily. "Yes…" he begins, abruptly cutting off as the topic of Emmett's thought processes brings up another possibility. _He__'d__ have likely been much more __creative__ about the effort, as well. (The image of him energetically throwing the pensieve around like a frisbee comes to mind, as his brother endeavored to shatter it upon impact.) Indeed, whenever there aren't more important considerations keeping him from having his way (which is most of the time) – he is much more likely to playfully go __through__ a river… or mountain… or other obstacle, rather than __over__ it._

"Unless…" Edward wonders: _Can it be pierced? _"Maybe I could try burrowing into the basin from the _bottom_… through its breakable base. _Possibly_ that could be a weak point – more moldable than the rest, at least; there's no telling where one stops and the other begins," he observes. The wizards are highly skeptical that this would work, however. "Maybe I could drill out a hole so the object would fall out?" Though the idea intrigues them, there is no change in their belief that it would be ineffective. "Or perhaps a high-speed missile would pierce through rather than shatter against it?" Both wizards' thoughts are still very skeptical. "Or, if that wouldn't work… a giant stone _straw_ fashioned from its pedestal and large enough to accommodate an _arm_, end pierced through only at the last minute, might could allow us to bypass the force-field and contents to reach underneath the potion in order to retrieve what it protects?" Neither of the wizards can say for sure about this one, causing him to conclude that: _It's worth a try._ "Those are the type of things Emmett might have tried next."

As his aching eyes meet hers, the new idea has him feeling marginally hopeful. "You're a genius," he teases optimistically, encouraging further conversation.

"As if," she counters. "It's not as if _I_ thought of it."

Stooping down again, this time to break the tall pedestal stand away from the floor, Edward subsequently balances the long cylinder in one hand, while he begins to crush and bore his way through it with the other – creating a closed hollow tube much the shape of a very fat pencil. "Well, you certainly know your _vampires_ better than any sane human should," he grumbles reluctantly, somewhat awkwardly continuing the flow of conversation. Inevitably, in the process of struggling just to _function_ underneath such an unrelenting mental attack, impatient frustration for her safety _would_ be what emotion evaded his control.

Surprised by direction and boldness of his comment, having not really known to what extent their companions were _aware_, and also concerned about how hard all this is really being for him – Bella retorts by challenging him in kind. At least by doing so, she can help to show the others how much they truly don't need to be afraid. Coyly kneeling down behind him so that she can put an arm around his waist and rest her chin upon his shoulder without ever letting go, she asks seriously: "Does that bother you?" She plants a kiss against his neck.

"Hmph," he turns his head to smile at her, grimly amused, even as he continues hollowing out the tube. "Now if _that_ isn't a trick question, I don't know what is. But you know I can't complain."

"Mmhmm," she hums.

Presently, he inserts the straw, tapered end down, into the pensieve lying at their feet. Though it pierces the contents easily, audibly scraping on the strangely stationary object at the bottom, very quickly it becomes clear that this new effort is also _not_ going to work. Before he even has a chance to punch out the final hole in the end of the tube, the thoughts of the basin swirl untainted right through the stone shape, as if it were not there… and the wizards' recollections make it clear that to _touch_ these would be to only immerse in them for viewing. It's how a pensieve works. Evident force-field or not, there still is going to be _no_ reaching the horcrux – without clearing them away first.

Edward is frustrated. From the myriad of thoughts he's been recently privy to, it's easy to appreciate _why_ it's so important to be rid of this immortalized wizard _Voldemort_… as well as understand how retrieval of this illusive horcrux is an inescapable part of that effort. Still, _no __one_ of them wants to see the kindly headmaster have to drink himself into _madness_ because of it! Edward knows the reality of _that_ pain better than _anyone_, having already seen and felt the horrendously torturous scenario played out over and over within so _many_ of the pensieve memories. Obviously, however, the potion was meant to be consumed.

Finally locking eyes with the forbearing headmaster as he stands once again, automatically reclaiming Bella's hand into his own as he does so, Edward's expression is full of distress and apology. "I'm sorry," he vocalizes softly, and his words carry a weight of knowledge that tells the elder wizard that he knows _exactly_ what it's going to do to him. But also, in full awareness of what Albus has _asked_ of Harry, and _why_, neither is he going to interfere with it.

Dumbledore is touched. Surely he _must_ be no more than a delicious _stranger_ to this formidable pale white being… and yet – he is being extended a respect the likes of which many _humans_ have difficulty achieving. Of course, there _could_ be other, much-less-_commendable_ motivations behind the action; it is what he originally would have expected. But… looking keenly back into the vampire's black eyes _now_, however… he sees some things he never would have guessed to find there. _Compassion? Sadness? Maybe even a friend. His sincerity is genuine._

_Clear__ly_, Albus notes with awe, _there is more to him than meets the eye. _He hadn't been able to determine, at first, how to interpret Edward's inexplicable desire to keep _Bella_ protected until they could safely exit. But now, it's unmistakable: _he __truly __cares for her. __That's__ no insignificant __matter__. __Undeniably, __she__ has trusted him __all__ along__ –__ much __more__ than we have__ –__and h__is actions in__ this vein __have__ spoken louder than words __ever__ could. _The grandwizard's eyes are drawn to linger marvelingly upon Edward's jacket newly placed upon her shoulders._ Indeed, h__e has treated __all__ of __us__ with the __very __same respect__ – __from the very __beginning__ –__ though it is mind-boggling that he should do so. _

_I don't __believe__ he __wants__ to hurt us__! _Dumbledore suddenly realizes with incalculable gratefulness and wonder: _not just now, but… __ever__. __How__ that can __be__, when his very __nature__ demands otherwise, I have yet to figure out – but I am supremely __glad__ for it! T__hat fact __alone __may be __sufficient__ to ensure __our __safety from him__ in the long term…__ so long as __we__ can keep from__ triggering his deadly instincts. _

Enlivened by this discovery, and full of gratitude for Edward's efforts on their behalf, the headmaster's thoughts swirl with appreciation and honor… ultimately culminating in a desperately profound trust of his own. _Keep Harry __safe__, p__leeease__…_

Nodding at the venerable wizard with respectful regret, Edward reluctantly steps back with a desperately wide-eyed and torturously _worried_ Bella, to their previous position.

Without further delay, and to Bella's growing _horror_ as she listens in, the wizards' earlier conversation urgently resumes… Dumbledore now focused _solely_ on securing the cooperation of a truly _frantic_ Harry… until finally, _unwilling__ly_, the assurance is given – and the old professor takes his first drink.

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**A/N: **Thanks for reading and sharing!


	5. Internal Crisis

*** * * Internal Crisis * * ***

Edward notices a difference _immediately_. In direct correlation with the amount of thoughts Albus has so-far taken into himself, the booming onslaught in his _own_ head _lessens_… as if every tale being simultaneously told by the _same_ voice had somehow magnified the volume of its counterparts to an excruciating degree – and is finally turning back down to normal levels. Through the filter of the grandwizard's _human_ psyche – those same thoughts now play through his mind only in _single file_, as Albus thinks of them. Naturally, for _Edward_, this presents a considerable _relief_… though for Albus, it is anything _but_.

Even as the brave headmaster remains determinedly silent while he proceeds through the next few gobletfuls, Edward can hear what is happening. Inescapably, Voldemort's thought-stream of memories has begun to regale the grandwizard's mind with the tragic first-hand details of _every_ heart-rending encounter from start to gruesome finish. Most devastating of all, however – is the fact that the good wizard is experiencing each horrific assault as if it were a recollection of his _own_… causing him to nearly _crumple_ under the desolating weight of his own conscience – as if it had been truly _he_ who killed them all.

_Oh, __horrors__!_ As much of an attack upon sanity as it yet remains for _Edward_ to feel almost entirely unable to focus on anything _other_ than these heinous accounts, _this_ is _so_ much _worse_. Evidently, by the very act of _swallowing_ – the venerated professor has, in effect, magically _adopted_ each of these foreign thoughts unto himself… to the point where the only internal clue he now _has_ – that they _weren't_ genuine experiences of his _own_ to begin with – is the fact that he is so absolutely _sickened_ by the idea of them, alongside the memory that he knew ahead of time to expect it.

It is a _horribly_ _painful_ scenario to observe… only exacerbated by the fact that Edward had never actually _known_ what internal reality was behind the various tortured exclamations of Voldemort's previous victims. _Now_, he does.

It's a reality every bit as insidious as having just woken up from being turned into a _vampire_ –only to find out that you'd just finished instinctively _slaughtering_ whatever humans happened to be in the immediate vicinity at the time… most likely people you _cared_ about. He had been spared _that_ particular horror – _most thankfully_ – but others hadn't. They had been burdened with the true _evil_ of their nature, right from the start. And it haunted them.

For him, that most consequential of understandings had been slow in coming. But when it finally _di__d_ – it had been bad enough feeling supremely guilty over the first _violator_ he ever killed. _Esme's ex._ No matter _how _justified he _still_ felt the attack had truly been, he had crossed a _line_ back then – one that he could _never_ cross back over. And because he had been previously _innocent _of any such offense – outside the confines of his newly predatory mind, that is – the realization had struck him with _crippling_ intensity. _He __was __a __murderer__._

It had been a permanent and major blow to his own self-image; _proof_ that he no longer had a soul. At the same time, it had become all the more difficult to _not_ just continue _doing_ it. _It's because an uncrossable line is __always easiest __not__ to cross – __the __first__ time_, he recollects sadly. Of course, as a _newborn_, such is the bane of nearly _every_ vampire in _existence_ – to cross that line the first time he feeds. _Usually_, before he even knows what he's doing. It's a very rude awakening into their damned reality. But nevertheless, one most get used to.

It all starts in the mind. Once a crossing of the line has been accepted _there_, subconsciously or otherwise, it is only a matter of _time_ before it gets crossed elsewhere. By then, the real damage has already been done. People don't usually seem to realize how potent of a truth this is, he knows… but the underlying nature of one's fantasies is enough to make the spur-of-the-moment difference between a _savage_ and irrevocable _attack_ – or merely the plans leading up to one. That was, to a _large_ degree, _how_ he had been able to resist harming Bella at their first meeting… because the killing of _innocents_ is one of those mental lines that _he_ has never crossed, by strategic isolation (thanks incredibly _much_ to Carlisle!) and then painstaking choice even during his most _abominable_ years. In the end, his resistance proved to be all the _stronger_ because of it. Undoubtedly, the same remains true even _more_ so for _Carlisle_ – his most admirable exemplar – who, though he once felt the damnable _desire_, has _never_ entertained the notion of feeding from humans in his fantasies.

And so, the true torture of each of the pensieve's victims has become distressingly clear. By making his thoughts their _own_, Voldemort has crossed this most uncrossable of lines _for_ them… and left them believing _unimaginable_ guilt, where there _was_ none. The crumbling in upon themselves – of _every one_ of Voldemort's muggle victims – takes on an entirely new meaning now. It was _not_ some physical ailment that brought them blamelessly to their knees, leaving them unresistant when the inferi stepped in to drag them away – but the _soul_-wrenching_ devastation_ of having their innocence mentally stripped away from them… _forever_.

_Entirely __too __familiar__ a situation_, Edward painfully recalls his own catalytic transformation, in which the nature of his talent had ultimately made that fact true for him in more ways than one. _Such a thing__ should __never__ have to happen to __anyone_, he adamantly believes_. _Nonetheless, his tormented eyes shift guiltily towards Bella – his _wonderfully_ innocent, strong-willed, and still-so-_naïve_ Love – and he _hugs_ her, _very_ carefully, just a little bit closer.

It's a foregone conclusion that each of the unfortunate drinkers of Voldemort's potion has felt _every bit_ this way. Many of them didn't even get past the first swallow.

For Albus, of course, it is a _little_ bit different: he was expecting this, first of all. Being already familiar with the magical world – and the supernatural sharing of _thoughts_ in specific – makes him better prepared to embrace the idea that they _might_ not be his _own_. Neither is he new to the overwhelming feeling of _guilt_ engendered by each tragic scenario… though apparently, his own history has never been confirmed of such. Still, his experience in dealing with the emotion has allowed him to more easily tolerate the drinking of _more_… inevitably acting as much a boon as it is a bother, as the devastating burden of every new set of thoughts – makes the _next_ gulp ever harder than the one before.

There's simply _no way_ the good headmaster could ever stomach being as sadistically _happy_ about it all, as _these_ thoughts are. "No, no, no, no, I can't, I can't, don't make me, I don't want to…" Albus devastatedly pleads of Harry. He's only drunken _five_ goblets full so far, and there's still more than _half_ of the potion left to go.

Firmly encased in Edward's comforting arms as he continues singing to himself diligently and even rocks her slightly, Bella has tears streaming down her face. She looks _sick_ from merely just _watching_ them… but neither has the whole ordeal been something she could tear her eyes away from. It's clearly _that_ important for them to have happen.

Painstakingly struggling to maintain conversation for _his_ sake, _and_ for her own sanity in the midst of all this, Bella whispers her fears dejectedly, "What's it doing to him?"

As Edward's expression of worried vigilance, while looking at her, promptly returns to one of tormented understanding on behalf of their companions, he quietly summarizes what he can tell is happening behind the scenes. "Most all of it is mental," _truly the __worst__ kind of torture! And I'm not going to describe it to you. _"They're not happy thoughts." _Let's leave it at that. _"Physically," his features twist with confusion as he makes the assessment, "it seems to be only making him… _thirsty_?" It was imagined that the accompanying potion would have had a _much_ more life-threatening _physical_ effect.

But the headmaster's desire for a refreshing drink of pure water (the image craved in his head) is the only physiological aspect that seems to have changed. It _does_ make it easier for Harry to continue coaxing the potion into him. Odd as it might be, perhaps that was its purpose in the first place – to _promote_ his death by insanity… causing him to think he's responsible for doing to someone _else_ what the potion is doing to _him_._ Wince. "Please, please, please, no… not that, not that, I'll do anything…" the grandwizard pleads. _Either way, it never gets any easier to watch.

Somewhere along the way, Edward's silent singing smoothly comes to a stop… and Bella notices. The comforting airflow of his breath had been caressing her ear, and now it's gone. Turning to look, she sees that though he still rocks her gently as he continues to watch her – his features no longer betray his misery at their plight, replaced instead with a cool detachment. It doesn't seem that he's under _attack_ anymore, at least. He's back to himself again, and stoically exercising his practiced and impeccable control.

Even so, when after the 11th cup Dumbledore _screams_ in anguish the plea to "KILL ME!" – Edward closes his eyes to the pain and curls Bella's face into him, so that neither of them will have to visibly observe it any longer. Simultaneously, Harry's apprehensive glance in the vampire's direction, filled with supreme torment about his _own_ role in everything, is relieved by this response. _At least it's not looking any __worse__ for the lot of us._

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry for the late update. Thanks for reading and sharing!

FYI: This is as far as this storyette is currently publish-ready - _sigh_ - so I expect we'll be seeing the beginning of another one next post.


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